


orion

by ixcarus



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Introspection, M/M, Minor Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou, References to anxiety, Romantic Fluff, Soulmarks, Soulmates, Touch-Starved, akaashi canonically likes to overthink ok, happy late valentines, help this boy get out of his own head please, its not too sad i promise, mentions of abuse, references to divorce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-22 13:04:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22716505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ixcarus/pseuds/ixcarus
Summary: It comes to him, then, the realization he came upon all those months ago at the bus stop. It makes him wonder how he hadn't thought of it earlier, the image that Bokuto brings to his mind so clearly, soboldly.Bokuto Koutarou is a star,Akaashi thinks,and he brings light to whatever he touches._Akaashi hates soulmates. Bokuto loves them. Somewhere, along the way, they fall in love.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 31
Kudos: 475





	orion

**Author's Note:**

> happy! (belated)! valentines! day!!!!
> 
> i've had this sitting in my drafts for like... a few months, now? and i thought, what better time than VALENTINES to release my angsty/fluffy bokuaka soulmate au? So i tried really hard to finish on time but... alas, as you can see, I didn't quite make it. Buit! it's here now so whatever
> 
> the title/quotes come from kenshi yonezu's song [orion](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lzAyrgSqeeE). It's a lovely song so please check it out!
> 
> also beta-ed by wonderful [maya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostmaya/pseuds/ghostmaya) thank for fixing my silly mistakes and reassuring me <3

_I drank deep of those prismatic stars_

_like a bursting spark_

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Akaashi first meets him before the school year even starts, when summer storms still plague the weekdays and grey clouds are just as constant as the unrelenting sun. It’s pouring heavily as he waits by the bus stop, his cheap umbrella barely protecting him from the elements. His duffel bag isn’t faring any better, completely soaked and most definitely getting his clothes and belongings inside drenched.

He can’t help but wonder what led him to think that public transport could be better than the ride back home his father had offered. _The fact that, at least this way, you’re alone,_ a little voice reminds him. Or at least, that was his thought process when he declined, but standing in the cold rain is starting to make him doubt himself.

Overhead, lighting flashes, and the bus is officially ten minutes late. Just when Akaashi thinks that nothing could make the situation worse, he hears the _pitter-patter_ of footsteps approaching.

Maybe he should’ve taken that ride, awkward conversations be damned.

_“Shit,_ a stranger calls out, out of breath. Akaashi looks up to see a boy around his age, with unruly streaked hair plastered to his face and golden eyes looking right at him. He has no umbrella, or even a hoodie — just a T-shirt and shorts — and Akaashi winces in sympathy. “Shit, excuse me, but did the three o’clock bus leave yet?”

Akaashi looks away briefly, the intense eye-contact a little too much for him to handle. “No.” A pause. “I’m waiting for it, too.”

“Thank _god,”_ the stranger exhales, wiping some water away from his eyes. It doesn’t do much to help. “I was worried, but I guess I should have expected it to be late in this weather.”

Not sure what to say in response, Akaashi just gives a small hum in agreement.

For a blissful moment, they stand together in silence. A car passes; Akaashi notes with disdain that he’s going to have no dry clothes to change into once he arrives at his stop. The stranger whistles quietly, almost drowned by the sound of raindrops, and just as Akaashi thinks he doesn’t mind the extra company, the stranger opens his mouth.

“The rain is really coming down hard! I was hoping it wouldn’t start until later but I guess today just isn’t my lucky day.”

When Akaashi briefly glances at the stranger, he almost does a double take. Now that he’s looking at him clearly, he takes note of his… _physique._ He’s drenched, through and through, and suddenly Akaashi is hyper aware of how _thin_ his shirt is. And how broad his shoulders are.

He averts his gaze, immediately feeling guilty for staring. It takes him a moment to realize, _hey, conversation requires the effort of two people,_ but the stranger goes on to the next topic as if he doesn’t mind the silent treatment thing going on.

“I’m Bokuto Koutarou! Do you play volleyball?” he asks, pointing to the little volleyball keychain attached to Akaashi’s duffel bag. It had been a gift from his mother — something she picked up on her way back from work on a whim — around when he first showed interest in the sport. Of course, this had all been _before_ the split, when such innocent happenings were common. It brings him a strange feeling of nostalgia, looking at it now.

“I do,” Akaashi finally responds, saying none of the thoughts surfacing in his mind.

“What position?” Bokuto continues, relentless.

“Setter…”

“No. Freaking. _Way.”_ Bokuto looks at Akaashi as if he told him something amazing, like that he won the lottery. “What high school do you go to? I mean — you’re a high school student, right?”

Akaashi pauses. “Yes, I am. Actually, I’ve just moved nearby. I’m going to Fukurodani as a first year.”

Somehow, Bokuto’s eyes get even bigger. “No way!” He repeats. “I’m a wing spiker, second year at Fukurodani, and our setter just graduated. You gotta try out! What’s your name?”

As he asks, Bokuto reaches out his hands, as if to shake him in excitement. And he’s not sure what triggers the reaction — the fact that it’s been a long day, or that he’s cold and wet, or that he’s just plain _tired of it all,_ maybe — but Akaashi flinches backwards as if Bokuto were about to hurt him.

_“Don’t,”_ he says harshly. He regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth, their bitterness directed towards the wrong person.

Bokuto blinks, clear panic in his eyes. “I — I’m so sorry, I didn’t meant to—“

“It’s fine,” Akaashi interrupts, but the damage has been done. The air turns awkward; thunder rumbles overhead, and the two lapse back into the once-comfortable silence.

Akaashi knows he’s overreacted. He’s never been struck, at least not like _that,_ as people usually assume when he flinches away from touch. Maybe his childhood was a little lacking in hugs, actually, so if anything, he should be a little closer to craving physical contact rather than being _avoidant._

But touch has always had a bit of a sacred meaning in his household. It means commitment. It means dedication. It means _red and purple, mixing together in that awful hue, bleeding over and over and over again…_

And most importantly, it means _soulmates_ — so, of _course_ he’s not keen on the idea of touching random strangers when he’s not yet ready for that sort of responsibility. Even so, he feels guilt festering under his skin.

Thankfully, the bus arrives, bringing Akaashi out of his thoughts and saving them from having to converse. Bokuto boards silently, quite obviously dejected after their rather short conversation. Akaashi plans to sit as far away from him as possible, but as his luck would have it, the bus is crammed, and they’re forced to stand next to each other.

Bokuto is at least mindful to try to keep his distance.

The entire bus ride, for lack of a better word, is _awkward._ Bokuto keeps looking at Akaashi, opening his mouth, then snapping it shut and looking out the window for a few minutes. His gaze always inevitably goes back to Akaashi, though, who pretends that he’s listening to music through earbuds even though his phone has died a long time ago.

The guilt from earlier only grows, and Akaashi is in an even worse mood by the time Bokuto gets ready to leave a few stops later.

He's not sure what makes him open his mouth, then. Later, he tells himself that it was for his conscience. Really, they're supposedly going to the same school, so the chances of meeting again were high. He wants to make amends for his overreaction. It isn't — It isn't because seeing this person's bright eyes dull and faded is doing, _has_ been doing, strange things to his stomach. Nope. 

"It's Akaashi," he ends up saying, before he can think too deeply into it. "My name. It's Akaashi Keiji. I... hope to see you again at school." 

Bokuto turns around, eyes wide in surprise as he's about to take the last step out. "Uh— yeah! of course! Make sure to try out for the team, okay? I wasn't kidding about needing a setter!" 

"I will," Akaashi quickly promises, before Bokuto starts getting sad again and holds up the line of people waiting to leave. 

Bokuto gives him one last smile before going off, the rain now a light drizzle. And Akaashi is no hopeless romantic — quite the opposite, actually — but watching his figure slowly become a distant blur as the bus continues on its route, Akaashi can't help but think he's met the brightest person in his life. 

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

He finds himself thinking of Bokuto on the first day of school. 

Akaashi’s not sure why. He’s met plenty of his other classmates during orientation, and they’re the ones he’s going to be in class with. Bokuto is a year older, and in a completely different wing of the school, so the chances of bumping into each other even between classes is slim.

But since that day, he hasn’t been able to get him, or volleyball for that matter, out of his head. If he tries out and gets into the team, then he’s most definitely going to run into him often. For some reason, the idea makes him nervous.

He's so immersed in such thoughts that, after a moment, Akaashi realizes he's wandered and gotten lost. Other students pass him, chatting amongst themselves, and he either blends in or nobody cares that he doesn't belong, because he's ignored as he stumbles through the hallways.

And as if the universe itself had been listening to his thoughts, a minute later he hears someone calling out to him. 

"Akaashi! _Akaashi!_ Why are you here?"

He turns around at the familiar voice and has to blink. Repeatedly. Because approaching him is definitely Bokuto (and even his uniform cannot cover all those muscles), but his _hair_ is not what he remembers it being. 

He supposed they _did_ meet in the rain, but he's surprised that the water even managed to push his hair down when it's so... _stiff._ It's sloped into two peaks, and he looks even more eccentric than ever, especially with the way he has his arm slung around another second year, the other waving wildly to catch his attention.

And then, Akaashi finally realizes that Bokuto's loud voice is singling him out, making a scene. Everyone's staring at him how. he wishes he could say it doesn't bother him as much as it does. 

"Hello, Bokuto-san" Akaashi says calmly, decidedly not looking at Bokuto's frame as he approaches. He's surprised his voice comes out so steady. "Please don't cause such a scene. You're bringing necessary attention to us." 

“Sorry, sorry! It’s just, you’re not supposed to be here!” Bokuto says, sounding not very sorry at all. His words come out in earnest, and if it were anyone else Akaashi might have taken offense at the latter comment. His voice carries, but the others must be used to his antics because after a few moments they all continue on with their lives. Akaashi lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“I’m afraid I’m a bit lost. Do you know where classroom 6A is?”

“Oh, yeah! Let me lead you there."

“There’s no need to waste your time — you could just tell me how to get there, and I could probably find it.”

“Nah, don’t worry, we still got some time before the bell rings. What kind of an upperclassman would I be if I didn’t help you out?” With those words, Bokuto gestures for him to follow animatedly.

There seems to be an unspoken rule between them: _don't touch._ Bokuto doesn't swing his arm around Akaashi like he did with his friend, earlier, but he has a sneaking suspicion that if it weren't for their first interaction, he definitely would. He doesn't act like it, though as he clasps his hands behind his head and looks at Akaashi with a grin. 

"I didn't expect for you to be someone who gets lost, 'Kaashi."

Akaashi shrugs absentmindedly. He's not sure how to feel about the sudden nickname. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, you always look so serious! You seem like the _cool and collected_ type, who's always on top of things, you know?

_Actually, I'm a mess,_ Akaashi thinks.

"Sure," he says instead. "If that's what you think."

"It is! Anyways, don't forget about trying out for the volleyball team. It's super important!"

_Bokuto must really love volleyball,_ Akaashi thinks with a smile. "I won't forget," he assures, "I promised, remember?"

“Right, you did,” Bokuto says seriously in response. He keeps nodding his head, and Akaashi can’t help but think he looks like a bird. “So if you break that promise, I’ll be very upset, ‘Kaashi. _Very_ upset.”

Then, Bokuto crosses his arms and pouts, as if trying to guilt-trip him. It might have worked, if he weren't a 6'1 buff male with biceps the size of basketballs — the ridiculous sight of _Bokuto_ trying to use _puppy eyes_ is so out of _place,_ that Akaashi can't help but laugh at the sight. 

"I wasn't planning on disappointing," He says after a moment, trying to hide his grin behind his hand. "I enjoy volleyball, and I'm excited to play."

Bokuto, for some reason, turns red. " _Good,_ " is all he says, sounding choked. "Uh — yeah! That's good. Nice."

Akaashi raises an eyebrow. "Yes. Um. Are you okay, Bokuto-san?"

"Yep, totally fine," he squeaks, as if nervous. "Oh, look, it's your classroom! Make sure not to get lost again. But, uh, if you do, don't be afraid to ask for help. Alright, great, okay, see you at tryouts, bye!"

Bokuto rushes out before Akaashi can even say thank you. 

_He's like a whirlwind_. He certainly looks the part too, with his wild hair and piercing eyes that shine even the dim, artificial light of the school building. 

_Cute,_ he thinks, and the thought is so sudden that Akaashi accidentally ends up walking into the door. 

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Surprisingly, when Akaashi heads to tryouts a few days later, Bokuto is not there with the rest of the upperclassmen who greet them. He doesn't think about the strangeness too long, though, as he finds himself focused on making a good impression. 

It isn't until they're halfway through drills that Bokuto makes an appearance, and the doors burst open with such force that Akaashi's pass to his partner veers incredibly off course and hits the other on the head. 

"Sorry, coach!" Bokuto calls out, obviously frazzled and generally creating chaos. "There was a bird right outside the door, and it was stuck, and I tried helping it but it took _forever —"_

"It's fine, Bokuto" their coach calls. There's a tiredness in his voice that makes Akaashi think this isn't the first time Bokuto has been late for some sort of random detour. "Hurry and get warmed up to make up for it! We're going to start practice 3 on 3's soon."

"Got it, coach!”

Bokuto starts doing laps as the rest of them get back to their drills — he can feel the exact moment he finds Akaashi amongst the crowd, expression brightening considerably as he winks in his general direction. 

_What the hell?_ He thinks, beginning to blush. _A wink? Really?_

He has no time to be distracted, though. The practice continues, and sure enough, they're being split into makeshift teams for 3v3s. Akaashi is paired with second years named Konoha and Sarukui. 

Of course, by some cruel twist of fate (or the fact that there aren't that many of them to begin with, Akaashi supposes), he finds himself going against Bokuto. 

"Hey, let's have some fun! Don't hold back, okay?" Bokuto says from across the net. 

Akaashi just nods, already feeling nervous. 

The game starts simply enough. Konoha serves, the other side of the court receives it easily; someone sets, and Bokuto runs up. It's a standard procedure, one he's seen hundreds of times — but somehow, something about _this_ feels different. All he can do is watch, mesmerized by Bokuto's form.

When he jumps, he _jumps,_ pure power behind his torso as he twists and _slams_ the ball with all his might. The moment his hand makes contact with the ball, Akaashi swears he sees a flash of bright, golden light. Their blockers don't stand a chance — the ball blasts past their fingers, careening just past Akaashi's stunned face. It comes so close he can hear the sound of the wind before it lands somewhere on the floor behind him, the echoes of impact reverberating around the gym walls. 

"Hey hey _hey_!" Bokuto cheers, running to high-five his teammates as soon as his feet touch the ground. 

"Dude, go easy on us!" Konoha whines, rubbing his hands from the lingering sting. Then, to Akaashi, "don't worry about that, Bokuto's just trying to show off."

"Right," Akaashi says, but he feels dazed. He had known, to some degree, that Bokuto had to be _somewhat_ good at volleyball — he was tall and broad and most important, had _passion_ for whenever he talked — but Akaashi hadn't been expecting something to _this_ extent. 

"Bring it on!" Bokuto shouts, getting impatient. "It's our serve, now!"

It comes to him, then, the realization he came upon all those months ago at the bus stop. It makes him wonder how he hadn't thought of it earlier, the image that Bokuto brings to his mind so clearly, so _boldly._

_Bokuto Koutarou is a star,_ Akaashi thinks, _and he brings light to whatever he touches._

It's Bokuto's turn to serve, and he can see it clearly now — Akaashi wasn't imagining the bright flash of light when he spiked. As he grips the ball, there are honey-colored swirls dotting his fingertips, briefly fading in and out like fireflies as he spins it in his hands. 

He's only _heard_ of cases like this — sometimes, people felt things so deeply, so _purely,_ that soulmarks appeared when they touched things that weren't their soulmate. It feels fitting, to see this reflected in Bokuto, as if he should have expected it. 

Briefly, he wonders what it would be like, to love something so fully. To have that much emotion welling within that it simply let itself out in the purest of forms. 

Just as quickly as the thought enters his mind, he banishes it away — that sort of thing, he's decided long ago, with soulmates and soulmarks and all the things that come in between, is simply not for someone like _Akaashi._

He, who shies away from people at the merest hint of touch. He, who loathes the idea of soulmates and dreads the day he'll inevitably meet his. 

He, who was never built for love, _to_ love, at least, not in the way he's expected to. Akaashi doesn't believe in giving himself fully to another person, and looking at Bokuto's smiling face he knows he wouldn't be able to, even if he tried. 

_Whoever has Bokuto as a soulmate must be very lucky, h_ e finds himself thinking. _And whoever has me must be cursed._

The world, he's come to learn, is unbalanced in that way. 

"Akaashi! Pay attention!" his teammate calls, jerking him out of his thoughts. Right — he's in the middle of a game. It may be practice, but it's called _tryouts_ for a reason. He has no room for distractions.

"Hey, are you feeling alright?" Bokuto calls. He's sweating, and there's so much concern in his eyes that Akaashi forces himself to look away. "If you need a break, we can stop for a bit!"

He shakes his head. "No, I'm fine. Don't worry about me."

_Yes,_ Akaashi thinks as the whistle blows, and the game continues. _Bokuto is the brightest star in the room._

_And I want to help him shine even brighter._

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

This idea, that somehow _Akaashi_ can bring Bokuto higher, seems so silly and impossible he almost scoffs at it. 

But after he becomes a semi-regular on the team (Bokuto wasn't lying, he really is the only setter on their team, but because he's only a first year they have a third year who played libero switching on and off with him), he begins to think that maybe, just _maybe,_ there's a way. 

Bokuto, he quickly learns, isn't always bright and energetic. There are times when he gets into a slump, when his eyes turn downward and all of his spikes fly wildly off course. His colors fade into nothingness. No one knows how to deal with him when he becomes like this.

And so the third years ignore him, in lieu of trying to help him get back on his feet. It makes Akaashi uncharacteristically angry — angry enough, at least, to try even harder.

Akaashi has always been prone to overanalyzing, but this time it comes in handy. He finds himself categorizing every action that sets Bokuto off, looking for every little thing that leads up to his dramatic outbursts. Maybe Akaashi doesn't bleed the colors of the sunset whenever he touches the ball, but he can sure as hell try to ensure Bokuto does. 

_This_ is the least he can do. It's easier to hide his slowly-burgeoning feelings under the pretense of volleyball. If Bokuto invites him to eat after practice, it's only to make sure he isn't upset for tomorrow's game. If Bokuto excitedly comes up to him during lunchtime, he eats with him only to avoid complaints during practice. 

(He's like a moth, drawn to the flame that is Bokuto, who burns so brightly that he can't help but try to get closer. Or perhaps he's Icarus, and he has to make sure he doesn't fly too close to the sun — sometimes, he wonders what it would be like to be on the receiving end of one of Bokuto's hugs, or high fives, but at every instance of almost-touch he feels his wings melt a little.

So he pulls away, already missing the warmth of his gaze, his smile.)

And so, the month's pass, and soon enough they're on their way to a training camp in the middle of their summer break. 

To say that Akaashi is nervous would be an understatement. He's managed to get by in school by keeping his contact with others to an absolute bare minimum, but it'll be much harder to have his personal space when he's stuffed into a room with all his teammates. 

Also, it'll be his first time officially playing as their starting setter against other teams — the third year libero-turned-setter couldn't make it, so it'll be Akaashi on the court at all times.

_Ubugawa. Shinzen. Nekoma._ The names are daunting, and having the pressure of making sure Bokuto is at his best the entire week they're there is... intimidating, to say the least. 

Bokuto speaks most highly of Nekoma, mostly because he's good friends with one of their middle blockers. He keeps bouncing up and down in the bus seat with excitement, and Akaashi, who sits in the aisle across from him — the bus is big enough for each of them to get their own row — just smiles nervously in return. 

_We have a few games today, so we should use Bokuto's excitement in order to secure a few wins,_ he thinks, distantly. _The energy from that will hopefully carry over to the other days. Actually, if we don't get a good start, Bokuto will most likely lose his drive for the rest of the trip. I have to think of something to cheer him up on the off-chance we end up behind._

"'Kaashi!" Bokuto calls. The nickname has been used for so long, that he barely bats an eye at it anymore. "Pay attention, we're here!"

"Right. Sorry, Bokuto-san."

They're not the first ones to have arrived — there's another bus, parked right beside them, and a group of boys wearing bright red jerseys. Bokuto visibly perks up at the sight, if that were somehow possible. 

"Oya oya oya?" An unfamiliar voice calls out.

"Oho?" Bokuto calls back, completely disregarding the duffel bags and equipment that needs to be unloaded. He runs with such speed that Akaashi is afraid he's going to run someone over. 

A tall man with the worst bed hair Akaashi has seen comes up to greet Bokuto. He has a sly grin on his face, but the humor in his eyes are genuine as the two embrace for a quick hug. 

"Dude! It's been so long! How are you? How's Kenma? Where is Kenma, actually? I thought you said he's playing as your setter now!" Bokuto rambles. 

Next to him, Komi snorts. "Well, off he goes again. They met like last weekend, so I don't know what he's so excited about."

Akaashi shrugs. "I think it's cute."

There's a brief moment, as he visibly freezes and a silence lingers between them. Komi only glances at him with that strange, impassive expression. _Shit,_ he thinks, _shit, I messed up. Back up._

"I mean — well. It's just. Not many people are as passionate about small things like Bokuto-san. It's admirable. I — so, we should all, perhaps, try to —"

"Buy me a drink, and I'll pretend I didn't hear anything."

Akaashi breathes. "Deal." 

“Akaashi! Akaashi, come over here!” Bokuto calls, now, waving his hands not unlike on the first day of school. Komi smiles at him, then, all sly.

“I’ll buy you two drinks.”

Komi makes a zip-and-lock motion with his fingers. “Alright. Go on, he’s calling for you,” he says, winking. Akaashi chooses to ignore him. 

He runs up, already dreading whatever interaction might occur. If things continue at this rate, he's not going to make it out of the training camp intact. Next to the stranger is now another student in the same jersey, with bleached hair and downturned eyes. In his hands is a gaming device. 

"Hey, Akaashi, meet Kuroo, my best friend!"

"Hey, nice to finally meet you," the taller one says, holding out a hand. 

Akaashi doesn't take it. "Nice to meet you too," he says politely, slightly bowing instead. _What does he mean by 'finally'?_

"I'm Kuroo Tetsurou, middle blocker and vice-captain of Nekoma," he continues, unbothered by Akaashi's blatant refusal. "And this is my soulmate, Kenma. He's a setter like you." He nudges the boy leaning on him, then. Hints of maroon and steel blue glow from the contact. "Hey, stop playing video games and say hi."

"Hi," he says, deadpan, not even bothering to look up. Despite his tone of voice, though, he ends up leaning closer to his soulmate. Kuroo's arms drape around him instantly as if instinct. 

The sight, for some reason, unsettles Akaashi. 

(He can't help but think that the maroon reminds him of his mother's soulmarks. It's not quite the same shade, but close enough for him to draw the resemblance, recalling the days when she would draw bright-red hearts onto her husband's arms before he left for work in the mornings. Her colors reflected her personality very well, both bold and determined and deeply passionate about living life. 

But also, they were angry, like blood, dripping down as she yelled and yelled and yelled. It zig-zagged and left behind burns, stinging with a venom Akaashi hated to see lingering in the kitchen, the bedrooms. 

It always mixed horribly with his father's colors, which on a good day looked like the mellow purple that showcased his calm, almost regal personality, and on a bad day left bruise-like circles on whatever he touched, bleeding out and pulsing with all the negative emotions and he never said but extruded.

And they would litter each other with these marks, full of their malice and envy. He could always see exactly where they struck each other, exactly what they felt. he could see all the cracks beginning to show until, at one point, there was nothing left to break and all they had was a cold, dulled out version of their colors before they disappeared altogether. 

He's not sure which was better — the everything, or the nothing.)

"Bokuto! Akaashi! Hurry up and help us, damn it!" Konoha calls from their bus.

He guiltily realizes Bokuto had been saying something. There's no time to try and backtrack, though. They say their goodbyes — which really just means that Bokuto and Kuroo promise to beat each other in their upcoming practice match, and Akaashi just nods while Kenma completely ignores the three of them — and move on. 

The uncomfortable feeling with him stays, though, leaving a bad taste in his mouth as they begin settling in for the week. 

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

"Left, left!"

"Hey, over here!"

The sound of squeaking sneakers pierces through Akaashi's brain, mixing in with the jumble of his thoughts. His body moves. His eyes follow the ball. But his mind is elsewhere, far away, working overdrive as he takes in information and runs away with it. 

_Receive_ _. Set. Spike._

Blockers, coming in from the right. It's Kuroo, with two other third years. At least, he thinks it's third years. They're so _tall._ And the rally has been going on for so long his arms ache. But Bokuto is running up with as much energy as ever, so he has to keep up.

Actually, they'll expect him to set to Bokuto — he has to switch it up, find a way to catch them off guard so they won't have time to react. Before the game started, he had been told all about Nekoma's play style, but actually playing against it puts it in a whole different perspective.

They're defensive, but not weak in offense. They're also smart, _especially_ their libero, and other than a few first years they're all very skilled in receives. They flow together well, like a well-oiled machine, like a _team,_ and while he's proud to be a part of Fukurodani, their play style is more of, well — making sure Bokuto is in top form, no matter what. Less balanced, but perhaps more powerful. 

Although, right now, it doesn't feel that way. Kenma is setting for them this time, and despite not being their starter it's clear that he works very well with the team. Perhaps being soulmates with Kuroo has got to do with it. He doesn't seem to move much, reserving his energy, but his eyes betray just how hard he's working. 

In other words, he's Akaashi's sworn enemy on the court. 

Every tactic he tries, Kenma sees right through it. Every feint, every toss, is somehow being read by his calculating gaze. His teammates are always telling him how hard he is to read, but as he plays against Kenma, he wonders how truthful that is. 

It bothers him, the way that Kuroo and Kenma work as a pair. That lingering feeling from the morning only intensifies with each set, each complicated play they pull off. It's clear that they understand each other on a level deeper than any normal teammate bond, and Akaashi finds himself inexplicably... jealous? He's not sure, anymore. 

_If only I could be that person to Bokuto,_ a part of him whispers, but he buries the thought deep under.

With each play, they give each other a quick high-five. The sound is echoed by their soulmarks, a pop of blue and red splattering in the air like fireworks — could they feel how tired the other felt? How much adrenaline ran through their veins? When _did_ Nekoma get tired, anyways?

Akaashi takes a quick look at the scoreboard. _Shit._ they're more behind than he thought — his chest feels tighter at the thought of losing their first game. _He's_ supposed to be the one in control — _cool and collected,_ Bokuto had said — but as they continue to play, he can't help but feel as if he's being slowly unraveled, piece by piece, falling apart so slowly yet so painfully. 

_They're just soulmates, stop letting it get to you,_ he tries to scold himself. But it feels almost painful to think about — painful and _annoying._

“Open, chance ball!” someone calls.

_Maybe it’s because they’re obviously happy,_ a bitter part of him thinks. He immediately feels guilty about it. Soulmates were _supposed_ to be happy... right? “Nice receive!”

“Akaashi!”

The frantic call of his teammate brings him out of the cesspool of his thoughts — barely. His eyes sweep the field, but all he can think of is the shade of Kuroo and Kenma’s soulmarks, blending together as if they could paint the very air itself.

There they stand, on the opposite side of the court, ready to block, ready to receive. Where could Akaashi set? Bokuto had run up so many times — he didn’t really have the strength to push through three blockers so late into the game. He needed another opening, to find another pathway, and _shit, the ball’s coming, he needs to decide —_

_“AKAASHI!”_ Bokuto’s voice calls again. His fingers move before he can think, but he’s too sluggish; it flies off course, shooting way beyond Bokuto’s reach and past the court. The whistle blows: _out of bounds._

The phantom grip around his neck tightens, and _he can't breathe._

Another whistle blows, signaling a time out, but all he hears is the sound of his own blood pounding in his ears. Someone's calling to him, asking if he's okay, and there's a hand, _reaching towards him, red and blue and_

...gold?

He blinks, once, twice. He opens his eyes ( _when did he close them, again?)_ and finds himself staring into the sun. His wings are burning behind him, and he's falling, _falling so quickly—_

"Sorry," he rasps out, feeling faint, "I just — I need some air."

He doesn't wait for a response, pushing past the concerned bodies surrounding him.

If he had taken a moment to look back, Akaashi would have seen the traces of pale silver swirling up from the spot where he pushed Bokuto aside. 

**・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.**

The summer winds are dry and humid, but Akaashi breathes it in all the same, as if he's been drowning for weeks.

He knows he's being followed, but for a moment he doesn't care. He just — needs to get _away_ from the buzz of the gym, the crowded whispers and looming eyes. He needs _space,_ and the desire to keep running only quells when he finds shade under a random tree and collapses onto the grassy floor.

Akaashi has peace for perhaps a minute. Maybe more. He’s not sure, but soon enough a shadow falls over him, and once again he finds himself opening his eyes to the sight of Bokuto Koutarou’s gaze directly right at him, open. Caring.

There are no words spoken between them as Bokuto sits down next to him, until the birds above them twitter away and another minute has passed.

He’s expecting something casual, something to bring the mood back. But instead, Bokuto tilts his head and asks, “Hey, ‘Kaashi? Why don’t you like soulmates?"

Akaashi’s thoughts scatter. There’s too much he wants to say, suddenly, and not enough space in his mind to try and sort through it all. “What makes you say that?” He finally asks in return. A question for a question.

Bokuto shrugs. “Well, you’re always avoiding having to touch people, and sometimes you even wear those special sleeves so you don’t have to make direct skin contact. You’re also always looking away whenever someone mentions soulmates, and you haven’t been yourself since you’ve met Kuroo and Kenma…” his voice fades, as if suddenly uncertain.

“…I suppose when you put it like that, I can’t deny it,” Akaashi finally relents. It feels — _dirty,_ almost, and he hates using that word but he just wants to scrub his skin clean after the confession. _Poor Akaashi,_ Bokuto must be thinking, _how could he possibly think he’s above fate? How will he ever find someone to love him when he runs out at the mere sight of soulmates?_ “Is there anything wrong with that, though?”

He also hates how defensive his voice sounds, how he can’t hide the bitterness and ugliness from seeping into his tone, his expression.

“No,” Bokuto says easily. Akaashi’s about to accuse him of simply agreeing to better his mood, but pauses when he sees the furrow in his brow.

“Would you believe me if I said I used to hate soulmates?”

Akaashi almost laughs. His fingers twitch from trying to suppress the urge. “You? The hopeless romantic that cried while watching that shoujo anime with the girl that dies?”

“Hey, it was a really good show,” Bokuto says, pouting, but there’s a serious tone in his voice as he continues. “And yeah. I used to be like, _‘I don’t want the world telling me who I’ll love! I’ll find someone my own way!’_ Drove my parents crazy, actually, how much I wanted to rebel. _”_

“So I’m just like a kid throwing a tantrum. Great.”

“No! No, that’s not what I mean at all — _gah_. I’m just saying, I know what you’re feeling. Or, at least, I think I do.”

Akaashi doesn’t say anything in return, so Bokuto takes it as a cue to keep talking. “I thought it was weird that everyone expected me to fall in love with my soulmate, and like marry them or at least be friends with them as soon as we met. I mean, what if I hated them? What if… they hated me? Everyone says you’re meant for each other but… relationships are never that easy. It almost felt like a cheap excuse.

“I was afraid, I think, of somehow not being enough for my soulmate even if we were meant to be. That I would end up messing it up no matter what fate said. So, I pretended that I never wanted a soulmate in the first place. But… I was lying to myself. I really wanted to meet my soulmate. I still do.”

“What made you change your mind?” Akaashi finally whispers.

And he _hates_ this, hates how exposed he feels, as if all the walls he’s built over the years have somehow crumbled at the slightest touch. There’s nowhere he can hide now that he’s placed his still-beating heart into the palm of Bokuto’s hands, trusting him as he keeps falling deeper and deeper, heading straight into the vast unknown that is the ocean.

“I changed the way I saw soulmarks,” Bokuto answers. His voice is gentle, the softest he’s ever heard it. “I used to think it was just something pretty to show how well you can get along with someone, but every person’s color is unique for a reason. But, really, what you need before starting a relationship isn’t a compatibility test, but an understanding of _yourself._

“And that’s exactly what a soulmark is for! They’re a reflection of yourself. They show you what kind of person _you_ are, how _you_ love, and if _you’re_ willing to make sacrifices, and all that. I think that’s why sometimes, soulmates don’t work in the way you want them to. People keep expecting things to work out once they get together, or that they’ll become complete as a pair, but really, soulmates work best when they can grow around that person, and learn to love them as a whole. That’s… how I think of it now, anyways. And it makes everything sound a whole lot romantic, don’t you think?”

_Oh. That’s why he loves the way he does,_ Akaashi realizes. With everything he has. With everything he knows. This is why his colors bleed everywhere, from each spike of the ball to the nets he sets up for the team — he is so sure of himself, in these highs, that he can’t _help_ but reflect that love, that joy, pure and untainted. 

It also explains why those colors fade when he’s dejected, when he loses sight of himself and _really_ , this is why he wants to meet his soulmate — someone who will help in those dark times. Someone who will always shine that light back at him as a reminder and as a hope.

“My thinking really does sound like the tantrum of a child’s,” Akaashi finally says after a long silence, taking in the words.

Bokuto laughs. “Well, I didn’t come to that conclusion myself! My mom talked to me about it. If it hadn’t been for her, I probably would have kept thinking that all soulmates were bad.”

His heart pangs with longing, then. He thinks of his own mother, and her cold words, the way they froze in the air and flurried to the floor like burned-up ashes. He thinks of his father, too, the heated way he would speak against the darkness, lighting up the room with poison that iced his veins.

“Would you believe me,” Akaashi says, quietly, “if I told you I used to love soulmates?”

A pause. “What made you change your mind?” Bokuto echoes from earlier.

“My parents,” Akaashi chokes out. The secret burns against his throat, his lips, as it crawls out. “I remember. They were in love... and then they weren’t.”

And it’s so _little,_ so simple, compared to Bokuto’s earlier ramblings, but he feels the air go out of him as if he’s spoken mountains, as if he’s just laid out his entire life story bare. And in a way, he has, and maybe it’s okay that his story is shorter. In a way it’s _him,_ and he even if he wanted to he doesn’t think he’d be able to speak any more.

“I’m sorry.” Bokuto apologizes, like it’s his fault. “But… I hope I was able to change your mind again, just a little. Because I think soulmates are beautiful, and I can’t wait to meet mine.”

They both look up to the sky, then. It’s peaceful, with not a single cloud in sight — no chance of rain, according to weather reports. But as he tilts his face upwards Akaashi can’t help but feel phantom bits of rain falling down, pooling around his feet.

He is the moth, and Bokuto is the flame, and he’s flown too close to the sun — his wings have melted, he’s dropped into the sea, but somehow, the lapping waves feels like a lullaby against his skin, drawing him to sleep.

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. 

_I want you to join me,_

_Just like this constellation_

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The rest of the training camp continues with no complications. They win. They lose. Akaashi gets used to the pressure of being on court, and things settle. Kuroo apologizes at one point, thinking that he’s somehow instigated Akaashi’s meltdown on the first day — and when he assures him that no, it really _was_ fine, he thinks that maybe he’s made another friend.

They exchange numbers and to his chagrin, _hugs,_ before they depart. Kuroo and Kenma are already paired, so there’s no risk of being connected to them anyways, but still — old habits die hard, he supposes.

Akaashi finds himself feeling a little lost. Before, his plan for if he had met his soulmate had been to cut off all contact and hope the other would be heartbroken enough to leave him alone forever. A childish thought, perhaps.

Now, he finds himself wondering what would happen if he _allowed_ himself to meet his soulmate. If he, for a moment, indulged in things such as loving another person, and being loved in return. If he didn’t run away.. _._

And if, for some reason, he can only think of _Bokuto_ whenever he thinks of his hypothetical soulmate, well. That’s something he keeps to himself.

The idea is ridiculous, for one. Bokuto has already done so much for him, it’d just be unfair if they were paired. What could Akaashi offer to someone like him, anyways? His role would, _should,_ always be confined to one of a setter — a teammate, who helps Bokuto shine a little brighter on the court, nothing more. To ask of anything else would be selfish.

But the heart, he’s learned, doesn’t care if it’s being selfish, and longs for Bokuto anyways.

It happens when the summer fades and autumn sets in, trees fading to reds and oranges and yellows that dot the endless blue sky. There’s no upcoming event, no life-changing happening that any of them are expecting. Akaashi still lives with his too-distant mother, and Bokuto still likes to invite him to lunch and after-school hangouts. Everything is normal.

(Life never waits for expectation, though, and Akaashi realizes that really, he should’ve expected something like this to happen _sooner.)_

It’s another day of practice, and as usual, Akaashi finds himself mesmerized by Bokuto’s form. He’s in good form today, and he’s admiring the view of his jumps — perhaps _too_ much, really — because one moment, he’s not-quite readying himself for a receive, and the next he’s leaning too far forward and the force of Bokuto’s spike goes directly to his face.

“AKAASHI!” Bokuto wails, immediately running towards him to make sure he’s okay. 

He looks up, dazed, and somehow knows he is about to meet his soulmate. His nose is bleeding all over his hands and clothes, and his head pounds with each step the other takes, but he _knows,_ suddenly — the sky is blue, Bokuto’s eyes are golden, and his soulmate is right in front of him. 

“I’m so sorry, Keiji, are you okay?” he continues, and before he can think about the whole _no-touching_ thing they’ve silently agreed on all those months ago, Bokuto is tilting Akaashi’s chin upwards to get a better look. 

He feels as if he’s being jolted by electricity. Before him, deep golden swirls burst from his skin, popping upwards before bleeding into the rest of his skin and spreading a subtle, glimmer-like glow beneath. 

(He can feel Bokuto’s worry, deep and sorrowful, as well as the guilt for spiking the ball so intensely. He feels the thoughts of the game slowly slipping away as Bokuto concentrates on _him_ now.

But most importantly, he can feel Bokuto’s _love,_ completely unfiltered and pure. It’s overwhelming, having it directed at him with such intensity, such conviction. It makes his skin feel too hot, makes him want to crawl into a shell and hide just to get away from — from _this,_ but a traitorous part of him whispers _stay._ It’s warm, he realizes, and it’s a kind of warmth he’s never experienced before. 

The marks are the same color as Bokuto’s eyes, Akaashi thinks.)

It feels as if eternities have passed, but he knows Bokuto lets him go only a second after the colors pop. The gym is deathly silent now, or perhaps Akaashi is more affected by the ball than he thought, because people are moving their mouths and probably asking him if he’s okay, but all he can make out is the distant buzz of his ears and the beating of his heart.

He’s not sure what happens next. He’s not thinking straight, that’s for sure, and maybe the ball _did_ hit him in the face too hard, because he finds himself pulling Bokuto closer before he can pull away. Akaashi’s not sure what he was expecting, but when he sees the faint traces of silver-snow, almost like aluminum against Bokuto’s dazzling gold, it feels right. 

_It feels right._

Those are his last thoughts before darkness overtakes his vision and he passes out cold on the gymnasium floor, flickers of the moon and the sun coming together behind his eyes to paint an eclipse. 

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

_Then twinkling stars fell down from overhead…_

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.  
  


Akaashi wakes up with the feeling of someone holding his hand. 

It’s strange, because he doesn’t remember going to sleep, but it feels the way he usually does after a nice nap. There’s a headache, somewhere, pulsing quietly in the background, but most of it is drowned out by a calming feeling coming from…

… from Bokuto?

He opens his eyes, heart rate accelerating as his memories come rushing back to him. He’s in the school’s infirmary, it looks like, and beside him is Bokuto himself, shyly clasping him with a tender expression. Flecks of amber are bleeding into Akaashi’s skin, as if Bokuto were literally spreading his bright energy, and his own steely silver hovers like mist in the air. 

It’s overwhelming, almost, the way their hands fit together. Akaashi has never liked touch, but then again, he feels as if he was never touched like this — like he is the most important thing in the universe. Bokuto’s rough hands seem so gentle as he leans in and brushes the hair out of his eyes, smiling. 

He shudders involuntarily. Bokuto misreads it, and retreats his hand, but to the surprise of both of them Akaashi reaches out to stop him. Blue-silver swirls pop at the contact 

“You don’t like being touched,” Bokuto whispers, but as a statement. 

“I don’t,” Akaashi slowly admits. “But… I just.” _Please hold me,_ he thinks desperately. “I’m just not used to it.”

Bokuto, because he’s _Bokuto,_ understands Akaashi’s nuanced words right away. He holds him for a moment longer, and Akaashi melts into it, wants to rest here forever and forget the rest of the world — but his head pounds again, reminding him that they have some things to talk about. 

“So, we’re soulmates.”

Bokuto’s pulls back, expression twisting. “I’m sorry! I just — I know you don’t like soulmates, so when I found out I decided I wouldn’t tell you, but then I, it just, it felt nice and I really really liked you before anyways, and I know I just knocked you out with a volleyball but like, I don’t think I can hide it anymore.”

Akaashi blinks. _What?_ “I— wait, when did you figure it out?”

“At the training camp, when you, uh, went out for air after our match with Nekoma… you pushed me aside and you left behind silver marks…”

_Oh_ . No wonder Bokuto had followed him to ask about his hatred of soulmates. He had probably felt, in that brief moment of touch, all the bitterness and _anger_ he had stored up. 

“Oh,” he says. “Is that why you knew what to say to me?”

Bokuto shakes his head, looking more and more distraught. “No! I mean, yes? But also, I wasn’t lying about anything I said, then. I really did used to hate soulmates. I told you all of that so… you would feel better. I swear I wasn’t taking advantage of you to try and change your mind, or something—”

“Bokuto,” Akaashi interrupts, feeling the swelling panic rising within him. “I wasn’t accusing you of anything. I just… I didn’t realize you knew for so long.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I thought you would hate me.”

Akaashi hums, thinking. “Well. I certainly wasn’t ready for the idea of soulmates back then. But… even if you had told me as soon as we met, I don’t think I could ever hate you.”

And once the words leave his mouth, he realizes how true they are. And it’s terrifying, this aspect, that even if Bokuto sometimes gets on his nerves or does something incredibly _stupid,_ at the end of every day all Akaashi has felt for him is adoration. 

“I think I’m falling in love with you,” Bokuto blurts, suddenly, and he looks so shocked at the outburst that he puts his hands over his mouth. 

Akaashi can’t help it — he laughs, suddenly, and he feels as if a weight has gone off from his shoulders. He can _breathe_ and think clearly, for once. 

And the truth is, that —

— _“I’m scared,”_ he admits, quietly. 

Bokuto breathes. “Me too. But… when you’re with me, sometimes I feel invincible.”

And maybe that's the secret, the answer that Akaashi has been looking for. _Together._ His skin burns as he grabs Bokuto’s pinky, as if chasing all the promises he wants to make for now, for their future. 

“I’m scared,” he continues, feeling bolder by the second, “But I think you’re worth it, Koutarou. I — I’m not perfect. I’m not used to… to hugs, or touching, and I’m nowhere near good enough for someone like you—”

_“Stop,”_ Bokuto interrupts, looking stern. “I could say the same about you! You’re so kind, and thoughtful, and you always are trying to cheer me up when we play volleyball. And you always go along with me to eat even if you don’t want to, or you’re tired. You’re the most perfect soulmate I could ask for.”

Akaashi is definitely blushing now, but when he tries to hide behind his hands Bokuto gently pushes them away so that all he can see is Bokuto, and all he can feel is the tender, unspoken love blossoming at their very fingertips. 

And as Bokuto’s fingers trace his cheeks, the slope of his nose, complimenting him at each step, he feels as if they’re mapping out a constellation together, writing their fate into the stars themselves. 

“I think I'm falling in love with you,” Bokuto repeats softly. “So can we try… _this?”_

And there are _so_ many uncertainties loaded into that word, so much Akaashi has been afraid of — but there’s also the promise of _together,_ of things Akaashi never believed he deserved. 

“Okay,” Akaashi breathes, leaning into Bokuto’s outstretched hands. 

And it feels like home in a way home never has.   
  


**Author's Note:**

> if you'd like to say hi pls check me out at [twitter!](https://twitter.com/ixcarus_)
> 
> i hope everyone had a lovely valentines even if u spent it alone (like me :,D)


End file.
